Make no mistake: middle-class is different than second class. I grew up middle class and it was great, but being second-class is never so apparent than when you’re boarding a flight. First, obviously, they board the first-class passengers¾which you initially think doesn’t make much sense because they are at the front of the plane and you’ll just have to walk through them, trying not to knock over their fresh-squeezed Guava juices with your ratty carry-on. But, then, you actually witness their doublewide leather seats and realize they could fit a Border collie under the seat in front of them and still have room to stretch their legs. The handicapped, elderly and diabetic even have to wait for these people!
Then, they finally get to the “boarding the rest of you jokers” portion of the announcements and here come the cattle. Hoards of families and honeymooners and first-time business travelers sheepishly shuffle past these elite citizens (like a scene out of City Slickers) with a wide range of expressions. Some nervous. Some apologetic. Some embarrassed. Most annoyed.
So as my number is called, it’s finally my turn to proceed down the aisle, all the while cursing my parents for not sending me Ivy League, cursing myself for wasting all my savings on drum sets and scanning the royalty while looking for something that distinguishes these privileged people from myself. I expect designer glasses, tailored suits, folded up Wall Street Journals and Blue Tooth earpieces. Nope. I see the Funny sections of the newspapers, James Patterson novels and a guy that’s actually wearing a T-shirt! One lady was even reading the effin’ SkyMall magazine! “They’re just like us?” I marvel, and I can’t understand why they get to sip on free martinis while I’m sandwiched between two ladies while elbow wrestling for 5 hours. One woman that forgoes “hello” and skips straight to, “Have you found Jesus, young man?” and another lady whose obligatory question, “Where are you from?” is immediately followed with, “Well, I moved out West when I was seven and then….”
Perfect. Seriously. No movie on a five-hour flight?
Once the cattle are settled and the first-class content, they swing that stupid curtain shut. That stupid, blue curtain that is the proverbial slam on your hopes and dreams and regrets. Any thoughts of a comfortable flight or a decent meal are instantly forgotten. And don’t expect any smiles from the flight attendants on our side of the curtain. No, no. Not for the peasant folk and their cold ham sandwiches and diet Cokes.
You know the only vindication from this whole scenario; the one thing that makes me smile; the one observation that should make us all feel like we’re on a level-playing field with the first-classers? Babies. Babies don’t give a shit what row they’re sitting in¾they’ll cry and kick just the same. And, we all are rolling the dice when it comes to the seating chart. So, as I sit with my cramping legs in row 49 F, I can smile knowing that the dude in 1A may be eating sushi off an Asian model’s stomach, but sitting right behind him in 2A is a two-year old¾with an earache.
And, all the sudden, not spending the extra two hundred bucks on first class seems like a pretty good move.
